


Possession

by nessbess



Series: Werewolves of Chicago [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bloodplay, Fluff, M/M, Werewolf Sex, jealous!Ian, kind of, mickey is Ian's anchor, minor bestiality, werewolf cuddles, werewolf!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessbess/pseuds/nessbess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post full moon, Mickey mourns his bedroom and Ian goes back to work at the Fairy Tail, where some poor sap tries to hit on Mickey and doesn't quite know what hit him in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

Mickey woke the morning after the full moon sprawled on the couch in his living room. Ian lay between his legs, mouth lax and drooling on his bare chest as he rested heavily on Mickey's full bladder. One of his hands clung tightly to Mickey's wrist, pinkie finger resting lightly along the thin, white scar on the palm of Mickey's hand while the other hand dug into Mickey's ribcage, a possessive grip that he knew would leave bruises. He couldn't really bring himself to care.

Mickey raised his free hand to poke Ian in the middle of the forehead, intending to get him up so that he could relieve himself. The gesture got lost somewhere along the way, and instead, his hand tangled into fiery hair, a subconscious smile tugging at his lips. Ian had had a tough night. He'd probably get all bitchy and shit if Mickey were to wake him; it was easier to just let him sleep. He didn't have to pee that bad anyway. Absentmindedly massaging Ian's scalp, Mickey drifted back to sleep, soothed by the warm puffs of Ian's breath across his chest.

The next time he woke, sunlight painted streams of light across Ian's bare back, catching his hair in a halo of fire. It was a sight he couldn't take the time to appreciate. Unceremoniously dumping Ian onto the floor, Mickey padded to the bathroom to relieve his protesting bladder, ignoring the muffled curses behind him.

Unburdened, Mickey frowned at the wreckage of his room with a sense of bemused dread.

When he and Mandy were kids, they had used to pretend that they had magical powers. Mandy always went for the stupid girly shit like wanting to hear people's thoughts or turning into an animal, but he'd always wanted the more badass stuff, like having fire powers or being able to move things with his mind. Being like Wolverine would have been pretty cool, too - blades that sprang from your knuckles and mad healing skills would be much more effective in a fight than brass knuckles and bags of frozen peas any day. But right now, it was the moving things with his mind that would be really fuckin' awesome. Maybe if he closed his eyes and clapped his hands, the mess would magically disappear.

 It was worth a shot anyway, he reasoned. No one was really around to comment on how stupid he looked.

Screwing his eyes up tightly, Mickey imagined his room as it had been before he'd set a werewolf loose in it - before Svetlana moved in, for good measure - and clapped his hands. When he cracked his eyes open to peek, Mickey slumped with a sigh. Ah, well. He'd start the clean-up tomorrow. Or never. Maybe he'd just keep kipping at Ian's place.

"Yeah," Ian snorted, scratching idly at his bare chest as he wandered up behind Mickey. "Sorry about the mess?"

Mickey narrowed his eyes at the redhead. "The fuck didn't you tell me you just wanted to use me as a fuckin' comfort blanket?" he demanded. "Would've saved all of my shit from being disintegrated in your mad crusade to slobber all over me."

Ian folded his arms across his chest. "Well it's not like I've had a full moon without the drugs or whatever, so I didn't exactly know what to expect." He paused, cheeks staining red. "Plus I didn't really know it would be so...intense. You know. With you. There."

Mickey's eyebrows rose in interest. "Wha'd'ya mean?"

Ian refused to meet his gaze, scratching idly at a dark freckle on his bicep. "Just...you know," he hedged, "the whole mate thing. My wolf didn't like that I could smell you - so close - and hear the beat of your heart, but couldn't see you or get to you."

"Your wolf didn't like it," Mickey repeated dubiously, folding his arms in a subconscious mimic of Ian's stance.

"Fuck off," Ian snorted. "It's all instincts and stuff, right?"

"So your instinct is to drool all over me all the time and throw an absolute hissy fit when you can't."

"Mate," Ian shrugged helplessly, as if the one word explained everything. Maybe it did, Mickey realized.

He tried to play off the warmth the thought gave him. He'd lost Ian before, more times than he cared to remember; it was kinda nice to know that Ian's instincts or whatever didn't want to let go of Mickey just as much as Mickey didn't want to let go of him.

"Tell you what, though - you fuckin' scared me last night, man," Mickey laughed, hollowing his cheeks around a cigarette as he lit up. "I was expecting fuckin' Cujo to come crawling out of the shadows out there, then up comes Clifford. Complete with red fur and Marfan syndrome." He grinned brightly as Ian snatched away his smoke with a good-natured scowl.

"Do you have to with the dog jokes?" He didn't wait for Mickey's confirmation, "and I don't have Marfan syndrome. Pretty sure Clifford the Big Red Dog didn't, either."

"Could have done," Mickey said passively, rooting around for a semi-clean shirt and shaking out the splinters before tugging it on. "Hey, how big do you think Abe Lincoln's dick was? I mean, his arms and legs were excessively long and he had huge hands and feet, right?"

"Don't think it works like that, Mick," Ian said. There was something hesitating about his tone that set off warning bells in Mickey's head.

He turned, noticing that Ian still stood in the doorway, a hopeful frown upon his face. Mickey ignored him and elbowed him out of the way to the kitchen, knowing that, whatever was on his mind, Ian wouldn't stay silent for long.

Sure enough, just as he pulled the jug of milk out of the fridge, Ian began to talk.

"So... work left a message on my phone," he admitted, long fingers twining together in front of his chest. "Randy called in sick, so I've got a double shift tonight. Wanna drop by?"

Drinking straight from the jug, Mickey swallowed and wiped the back of his hand across his chin to catch the drips. "'Randy'? You serious?" he scoffed. "Christ, that's almost as fucked as 'Curtis'."

Ian shrugged apologetically.

"When you gonna fuckin' sleep, man?" Mickey demanded. "You were off doing your best fuckin' Lon Chaney Jr. impression last night and night before that you were out grinding on some balding knuckle-dragger for money - now you're working a double again tonight?"

"If I don't go tonight, they'll fire me," Ian said, rinsing a bowl in the sink and grabbing a box of off-brand Cheerios from the cupboard.

"Good," Mickey laughed harshly, allowing Ian to steal the milk to pour over his cereal.

Ian scowled. "You'd love that, wouldn't you," he snapped. "Getting to be the sole earner - the uncontested man of the house. Your dad would be so proud."

"Don't say fuckin' shit about my dad," Mickey snarled, jabbing a finger into the redhead's chest. He backed down quickly, raising his hands in a mollifying gesture. "Wasn't looking for a rumble." Ian snorted disbelievingly, but Mickey ignored him. "Just meant I don't like other dudes being all over what's mine, believing they've got a shot with you."

"Aw, Mick," Ian cooed, his scowl morphing into a megawatt grin. "Are you jealous?"

"Fuck off," Mickey glowered. "I ain't no bitch. Just don't like the idea of catching the fuckin' clap from some fruit muncher who doesn't know to keep himself clean before plunging it into your ass."

"You know I don't fuck them, Mick," Ian said around a mouthful of cereal, tilting his head back slightly to avoid dribbling milk over his chin. "Just grind a little bit - enough to make them come back in hopes for more. It's all about the tease."

"Uh-huh," the older boy grunted dubiously.

"It's just a job," Ian rolled his eyes. "The money's good. You don't have anything to worry about from any of them. From _anyone_."

Mickey pressed his lips together, eyebrows flying as he nodded once.

"So... You coming tonight?" Ian pleaded. He knew from experience that Mickey had no defense against the puppy eyes.

Sure enough, Mickey capitulated, rubbing at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "Yeah, alright," he sagged. "Got nothin' better to do than hang around watching you helicopter at a bunch of pensioner North Side queens."

Beaming, Ian darted forwards to plant a milky kiss on the thug's cheek. "Thanks, Mickey," he grinned.

~*~

Ian had never felt more alive than in that moment. The scent of Mickey's sweat in the heat of the club filled the air around him, mixed with tones of nervousness and irritation and jealously and the all-encompassing flare of arousal. He could almost taste the aroma of Mickey's emotion on his tongue, thick and heady and tangible like incense. Mickey's heart pounded in time with the rhythm of the music and Ian, in turn, danced to the rhythm of Mickey's heart, it's beat calling to him like a siren.

He felt drunk off of Mickey's presence, feeling the weight of Mickey's jealous glare tracking his movements. The wolf inside of him was virtually purring, basking in the attention of his mate. There was no one else in the club; none of the other patrons mattered. It was just him and Mickey, and he allowed the pulsing music to sweep them away as he moved, dancing with a sensuality he didn't know he possessed.

It was as if the full moon had made every sensation so much more intense, as if the desperation that had driven him to claw his way to Mickey had somehow bound them together, leaving him wanting nothing more than to be with Mickey, touching him, tasting him, breathing him, feeling him, always. Even more so than before.

His rhythm was thrown off when he heard Mickey's heartbeat stutter, skipping a beat before pounding even faster than before, like a startled rabbit. Ian stopped dancing, his eyes snapping open and finding Mickey instantly.

The older boy's eyes weren't on him, but on the slim, attractive blonde boy who stood in front of him, trying to lean alluringly into Mickey's space. Mickey's eyebrows were almost to his hairline as he tried to arch away from the blonde, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if to resist punching this boy in a move that would get him thrown out of the club. Mickey seemed confused, unsure of how to respond when the blonde reached out to play idly with the lowest button on his shirt.

Ian didn't need super werewolf hearing to know what was happening. His vision faded into a hazy cloud of red as he marched off the stage, prowling through the crowd towards the bar where Mickey stood with his unwanted suitor. Mickey looked up, his eyes widening when he met Ian's, only a few feet away. Ian knew he must look a sight, his eyes shining in the dark lighting of the club, sharp fangs bared and his hands tense by his sides, fingers tipped with deadly claws as he stalked across the club wearing nothing but a pair of tiny gold shorts, but he didn't care. Let people stare. Mickey was _his_ , declared so in the bruises on his hips, the teeth marks in his shoulder, the scent of Ian all over him. How _dare_ this blonde little flea think that he had any chance with him?

"Come on," the boy with the death wish was saying, still fondling Mickey's button. "Sure, the dancer's cute, but most of them don't actually put out, you know? I'll show you a _real_ good - _mmflk_!"

He cut off when Ian seized him by the back of the throat, whipping him around to face him. The boy's eyes widened in terror, blood beading where Ian's claws punctured his skin. In the flashing blue lights of the club, the blood looked almost purple. Ian snarled into the boy's face, who answered with a strangled _eep!_ before Ian flung him to the side, discarding him as scum beneath his notice.

When he turned to Mickey, the shorter boy held up his hands defensively. "Hey, don't look at me like that, man. I told him I was taken, and that if I was fuckin' anyone tonight, it was gonna be you. Don't think he quite made the connection," he grinned widely, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Ian was momentarily distracted by the smell of arousal that wafted off of Mickey, but it only served to firm his resolve. He had to ensure that Mickey's arousal was one hundred percent caused by him, and not the blonde little twerp. Mickey belonged to _him_.

Ian snatched the front of Mickey's shirt, a low, animalistic growl rumbling deep in his throat. Mickey opened his mouth to speak again, but his words morphed into a loud, joyous laugh when Ian cut him off with a snarl, shoving him bodily into the men's room.

Mickey's laugh turned into a strangled moan when Ian shoved him against the sink, shearing the belt off of his pants with two swipes of his claws. Mickey hastily unbuttoned his own pants, tugging down the zipper and pulling both his pants and Ian's gold shorts low enough for access. He didn't trust Ian's dexterity at the moment and knew Ian didn't have the patience to try anything other than ripping them to shreds. He didn't much fancy the idea walking home in nothing but his underpants.

As soon as Mickey had pushed the waistband of his boxer shorts below his ass, Ian bent him over the sink with one hand pressed firmly against the back of Mickey's neck. Palming his cheeks apart, Ian dropped to his knees and wasted no time before burying his face in Mickey's crack. He inhaled deeply, his wolf calming at the intimate scent of his mate, but the need to restore his claim didn't abate.

Afraid that he would hurt Mickey, the human side of Ian fought for control. His muscles straining against the wolf, Ian managed two broad licks across Mickey's opening, earning a barked sound from Mickey that made both Ian and his wolf shudder, before he was back on his feet.

 He pressed in with no preamble, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt. Mickey's hiss of pain quickly changed to a groan of pleasure at the sweet burn. Ian knew that Mickey usually preferred a quick prep with fingers and lube, but it wasn't the first time they'd gone without. The older boy sometimes relished the burn, the instant feeling of too much, too full, too soon.

Ian paused, his breath coming in quick puffs against the back of Mickey's neck as he struggled for control, battling the wolf's need to fuck and dominate and claim with his own need to protect Mickey. His hands tightened around Mickey's hips, arms trembling with the force of his restraint as he focused on giving Mickey time to adjust to the sudden fill.

When Mickey's fingers covered his own, Ian looked up into the mirror hanging before them. He saw his own face, lupine and dangerous, before his gaze shifted to Mickey's. The older boy's eyes were almost black beneath their heavy lids, his mouth open and panting lewdly, cheeks flushed with desire. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat, framed by the open collar of his black button-down.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not some bitch, just hurry up and pound me already," he commanded, tilting his hips back towards Ian and causing the redhead to slide in even farther.

Whining low in his throat, Ian gave up all semblance of control. He drew out until only the head of his cock was still inside Mickey before slamming back in, giving in to the wolf's need to fuck and mate and _mine_. His claws dug into the bruises already dark on Mickey's hips, blood pooling in the indents his fingertips pressed into pale skin before sliding in thin rivulets to soak into the band of Mickey's boxer shorts. Mickey seemed to be only spurred on by the pain, meeting Ian thrust for thrust and grunting with every impact of Ian's hipbones against his ass.

It didn't take long for Ian to spiral towards the edge. He pulled out just before he came, his teeth latching onto the fleshy part just above Mickey's collarbone as he shoved Mickey's shirt up under his armpits and painted his pale back with ropes of come. Mickey followed shortly behind, his own hand working furiously over his dick beneath the sink. He followed Ian over the edge, marking his release with a strangled shout.

Ian's thighs trembled with fatigue as he leaned against Mickey's ass for support. His already softening cock nudged against the older boy's balls, causing them both to shiver. 

Ian's wolf seemed to curl up contentedly as Ian began to massage his come into Mickey's back, spreading his scent over his lover, reestablishing his claim in the basest of ways.

"The fuck are you -?"

"Just let me," Ian cut him off. A quick glance in the mirror showed Mickey looking too blissful to continue his protest. He practically purred as Ian massaged into a tight muscle.

"Goddamn, Gallagher," Mickey laughed tiredly as he collapsed against the sink in front of him, seeming content to merely lounge and watch as Ian continued his ministrations, "Now that was the Cujo I was expecting to see last night."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really bad at writing porn, I'm sorry. Was going to leave the sexytiems out, but the best way to get better at doing something is to just do it, amirite? Hopefully it doesn't dwell too far into the Bad Porn niche. (I'd ask for constructive criticism but I'm really bad at taking the whole criticism thing so let's not).


End file.
